Protection
by Alcibie
Summary: Jack has a farewell to say


"You will write, won't you?" she asked, carefully studying the long grass at their feet.

Write! The simple sentence made him want to cry. Only here, only now, would a beautiful woman be happy to leave behind her charmed childhood and work this harsh land. Only here would she ask of someone going into hell to write words on paper, assuring her that he would return, that somewhere, someday there would be a way back.

"I'll write," he said lightly, "if you reply."

She took his hand and squeezed it gently. They had come to the end of the long field and stood now at the edge of what looked like a small copse of trees. Inside it, the last of snowdrops lay flattened against the damp soil. A thin sunlight pointed its way through the barely moving branches.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said softly.

In reply, he turned her slowly and pressed his lips on hers. For moments, there was nothing but her and the breeze against their faces. Then she moved and broke apart suddenly as her feet touched the top of the pail. The milk splashed over the top and soaked quickly into the ground. He reached down to steady the pail.

"It's alright," she said, smiling at him, "it belongs to the fairies now."

Her words felt like falling shadows and their effect made him step sharply backwards from her before he realised what he was doing.

"What?"

"Fairies." The teasing smile he would never forget lit her features. "You know...never cry over spilt milk. That's why they say it. It's a gift to the fairies."

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't know! This looks like somewhere you might see them, that's all."

"No it doesn't." He walked forward, glancing between the trees if as he might actually see...

She followed him, caught his arm again and linked hers through it.

"Jack? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He took a deep breath, trying to gather himself. She came to a halt, pulling him towards her again and traced the outlines of his face with her hand.

"They used to say," she said softly, "that if you were in danger of being captured by the fairies, you should turn your coat inside out. Otherwise they'd bring down a mist and you'd never find your way through it."

"Old myths," he said, trying hard to force amusement into his voice.

"You once said that myths were distorted versions of history that no one wanted to remember."

"Not this one." He kissed her cheek lightly.

"You'll find your way back to me, won't you?" she asked softly.

"'Course I will," he said lightly and stopped as a line from a poem entered his head.

_I'll come to thee by moonlight...though hell should bar the way._

"Even if you meet hundreds of beautiful French girls?"

"Somehow, I don't think the dating opportunities will be up to much."

"Poor you." Her tone was light, teasing. "Jack without dating opportunities. I dread to think what that does to you."

"I'll cope." He winked at her, wondering what he'd miss most about her. Estelle was smart. She had no false illusions about him. Maybe she had no false illusions about herself either. That thought cheered him slightly. She would be ok. She would live her life regardless. She would love and live and dance and laugh just as she had through the last year. It was hard though, brutally hard, living all the enchanting moments together, knowing that it would never be forever...that forever for each of them was light years apart.

_He_ had never told him what it was like.

"Stop!" She pulled him sharply, and gestured downwards. "See? I told you!"

He followed her gaze to the small, jagged oval in front of their feet.

"A fairy ring!"

"Estelle, it's a cluster of mushrooms."

She stared at him, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

"Use your imagination, Jack!"

_I don't have to._ Instead he said aloud, "What gets me is, why do you all think fairies are these lovely little magical beings? Maybe they're not. Maybe they're dark, dangerous shadows stalking us..."

"Stop!" Again she held her hand against his cheek.

"Must you always see the darkness?"

"I'm the one going off to fight. It's my privilege." He took her hand from his face and held it.

"Estelle, promise me you'll never come here at night, ok?"

"Why should I?"

"Just...promise me that."

"Fine! I promise! And now..." She made a theatrical gesture towards the ground, "tell them you mean them no harm."

"_What?"_

"Tell them you mean them no harm! That's all. So they'll give us protection."

"For God's sake!" He stared intently downwards, burning the image into his mind.

"Did you say it?"

"Yes! I said it! Come on, we wouldn't want to trespass now, would we?" Holding her hand, he led her out, breathing in the sunlit expanse of sky and space outside the shadow of the trees.

"I better get back," she said quietly, looking in the direction of the small farmhouse. "Mrs Hodge said just an hour."

"Well, it wouldn't do to get on the wrong side of her. Stale bread and water for supper!"

His insides seemed to burn and curl around him as he felt something break between them. It was over. There was just an insignificant farewell left. Already there was an awkwardness, as if one of them had acknowledged the finality in their every gesture.

"I'll see you soon and...take care, Jack, won't you? Please? Take good care of yourself."

"I will if you will," he said, smiling at her.

Then a kiss, a brief kiss on his cheek and a squeeze of his hand and she turned quickly and walked away, her long hair, the hair that always been tied back tightly before her journey to the countryside, tossed with the movement of her body.

He watched until she was little more than a dot at the bottom of the slope. Then he moved slowly, removed his coat, turned it and tugged the sleeves inside out before putting it on again.

It was ok. There was no one around to witness or laugh at the absolute futility of the action and even if there was...

"Like I said, lay one hand on her and I'll find a way to kill you all," he murmured into the dark copse, "and believe me when I say that I have all the time in the world to do it."

The only answer was the breeze, whispering through the trees like a hushed burst of laughter.


End file.
